For a moment time seemed to stop. There was silence in the large room, and people from all sides looked at him with a mixture of contempt and pity. The vacant stare Mail had been giving the wooden table in front of him for the last hour was finally broken, and he peeked up through the fringe of his hair to the front of the room.
Green eyes locked with his own; cold and mocking, and immediately, and pathetically in his opinion, he flinched. A smirk was caught, as if the situation was nothing but a joke and Mail's stare slowly traveled back down to the table. He studied each line the light wood had to offer, observing each grain as if he had never witnessed something so amazing. His mind, however never stopped in its wondering, no matter how much he wished.
He listened acutely to every word said, the sound echoing throughout the high ceilinged room, one out of many to witness the outcome of a tragic event Mail had no way of stopping.
How could this happen?
Mail forced himself not to fidget as his stomach twisted in a nervousness he had found himself experiencing for a little more than two weeks. He desperately wished he could stop time, everything had been going by so fast. Two weeks ago his biggest concern was how to skip a class without getting caught. Two weeks ago he was happy.
Now...
Why had I not foreseen this?
Now he had nothing. Nothing except this... monster. A beast that had ripped everything apart from him. Destroying everything Mail had never been able to see himself living without.
Something like this completely threw Mail off. He was left with wild thoughts of what could possibly happen next. And all the answers his mind supplied him with only served to create a deep fear of the unknown.
He was scared- no, terrified.
Sitting there in that small chair in front of that stupid table, surrounded by people he's never met before, never known. All of them watching, waiting, laughing at him, pitying him. He didn't want to be here.
He didn't want to exist knowing that nothing belonged to him. That he had absolutely no control of anything. Not even his own life.
And those eyes.
He felt everyone in the room as they stared at him, but that one pair of green eyes... They bore into his soul. His hands shook in his lap, fingers twisting around each other with nothing else to do.
What did you wish to accomplish?
Those eyes, so alike his own. They burned in their constant stare; reminding him of who he is and everything he stood for.
I don't know you anymore.
And the final sentence was spoken. The official punishment. And Mail's gaze lifted again in time to watch those eyes sparkle as the owner moved, leaving the room, going somewhere Mail would never wish to follow.
Until those eyes were completely gone, Mail didn't move. A hand brushed against his shoulder as the doors closed and he rose from his seat slowly. His face never changed from the stoic, bored look as he walked at a normal pace behind a man in a crisp, black business suit.
The vacant expression the he wore most likely concerned many people, but it was a face he'd seen every time he looked in the mirror since it happened. There was a time where he had smiled, laughed, and cried. But not now. All that was left as he strolled down the aisle was the stony mask of indifference.
He didn't care.
That's what he told himself anyway. He, for one, knew that was a lie; whether other people believed it was their own undoing. Underneath that uncaring look, emotions could only be described as an ocean, ruled by a demonic force, pulling the water back and forth mercifully while a level five hurricane raged throughout the watery expanse of nothing.
Mail was in the middle, strapped to a canoe, fighting for his life with a small paddle that would break any second and then he would be pulled under the waves and drown in all the things he would never allow himself to say.
On both sides of the long aisle people rose from their seats as well, chairs screeching across the tiled floor, echoing as voices from many observers whispered to each other about what they had just witnessed. The room was suddenly full of sound, a striking contrast to the intimidating silence that had occupied the air a few moments before.
The man in front was the first to open the doors leading outside. A world completely different then the one Mail was born in. Bright light shined in his face, forcing him to blink a few times to adapt. More lights accompanied the sun's in quick flashes, leaving spots behind his eyelids and a sudden barrage of words were thrown at him. Questions that Mail could not decipher, and even if he knew what they were asking, could not answer.
He was silent even as they reached the roadside, the man opening a door to a black suburban with tinted windows. Mail slid into the back seat as the man took the passenger side, the driver shifted into gear and pulled away, merging into the fast moving lane of cars in the middle of the large city called Los Angeles.
Mail's eyes turned to stare out the window, at the building he had walked out of, watching as it disappeared in the distance. His thoughts wondered, and he found he just wanted them to stop. He didn't want to think. Especially when the topic contained green eyes.
"Mail Jeevas, if I may acquire your attention for one moment, I would like to make a proposition."
Disturbed from his rather distressing thoughts, Mail's gaze went to the driver, face still set in a blank stare; his eyes, however, betrayed his curiosity.
The man's eyes never left the road as he made a left turn. He looked like a normal adult, albeit high in age with hair a striking white. A brown suit-jacket covering a white button up shirt and beige dress pants as his attire made him very inconspicuous. However, as they made eye contact through the rear view mirror Mail was hit with a sense that he was an important individual.
Seeing the interest Mail had in his conversation, the old man continued, "My name is Watari. I own a special orphanage meant for children with gifted abilities. I would like for you to join."
Mail let a strange look pass over him and as a child would, especially one with as wild an imagination as his, asked, "Gifted abilities... so it's like an X-men school?"
In good humor, Watari laughed, a light chuckle that filled the car with a friendly air. "No, this is a school for children who have shown a high intelligence level."
Once more a strange look passed his face and Mail stared at the man as the expression finally settled on confusion. "But I skip almost all my classes."
"Correct. All schools you've attended, starting from the fourth grade, say you have been mysteriously absent for sixty eight percent of the year. And yet, you pass every single class with perfect scores. That is a very interesting ability, Mail."
There was a sigh as the boy turned to look out the window, at the city passing by. Los Angeles was the city he was born and raised in. Only now, it seemed strange; a foreign land Mail just could not stand to see any longer.
"I know you've been though quite a lot," Watari said as he stopped at a red light. "I don't expect an answer right away. However, this is a very secretive place and I must ask of you not to speak of it to others."
Silence spread through the vehicle once more and Mail continued to stare. There was a grocery store on the other side of the street. It was a place he had been to often, back when he was happy. It hurt to look at it now, so he turned to stare at the back of the seat in front of him instead. Before he realized it, he was already speaking, "Is it far away from here?"
"Yes, in England actually."
"I don't have any money."
"All necessities will be taken care of."
Mail looked up into the rear view mirror where he could see his own reflection and was taken by surprise at what he saw. Red hair, messy, as if it hadn't been brushed in days (and it hadn't), dark bags under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept in days either, Mail also found it difficult to remember when the last time he ate was. But his most striking features included his dark green eyes, glinting in the afternoon sun.
Just like his.
"I want to go."
Watari looked at him through the mirror with a hint of surprise. "Are you sure, Mail? This is quite permanent. One can not just drop out of a prestiges school. And 'skipping' will be next to impossible considering you are living on the premises."
"I'm sure. When can I leave?"
"We may leave now if you so wish. Tickets are already paid for and luggage is not needed."
"Okay."
There was a hesitation before Watari asked, "Do you have anyone to say farewell to?"
Once more, Mail caught look of green eyes and he searched them for answers to questions he didn't have. Did he have anyone?
No.
Friends weren't needed in his life before. He had him for companionship. Besides, he spent most of his time around town, ducking in and out of alleyways, arcades, creating mischief. He didn't have time for friends.
And family? Well, he's pretty screwed over on that now, right?
He had nothing. Nothing and nobody...
His life was officially null and void.
Suddenly, Mail Jeevas didn't exist anymore.
No, Mail Jeevas was a happy child with a mom and dad and... family. Mail Jeevas was a completely different person.
I don't know you.
And a few hours later, as he waits in the LA Continental Airline terminal for Watari to retrieve the tickets, he just happened to see a glimpse of a TV displaying the five o'clock news.
Mark Jeevas, twelve year old son of Lisa and Michel Jeevas killed his mother and father in a grueling, horrific blood bath worthy of a sociopath killer. His twin brother, Mail Jeevas, was the first to find the bodies of his parents brutally slaughtered. Police describe the room to be covered in blood, internal organs laid about the room in symbols relating to a god of death. A newly recruited homicide detective says that the stench that primates the air is unlike any he had ever known.
Mark Jeevas was sentenced to four years in juvenile detention for his young age. We expect, however, to see the full extent of his crimes punished in a state penitentiary after his eighteenth birthday. As sad as this is, the innocent brother, Mail Jeevas, is said to have no where to go. Testifying against his own brother must be hard enough, finding a place to stay, most likely at some orphanage-
Turning away, Mail caught sight of Watari as he came through the crowd and stood from the seat to meet him half way. He boarded the plane a few moments afterwards, prepared for the long flight to Winchester, England.
Mail Jeevas.
I don't know you.
--- TBC ---
Okay, so this is an IDEA. Take that into the context it was meant to be in. Idea. Most likely I will be updating. But really, I've just had this plot bunny for a while now. It won't leave me alone. I'm scared to start a new multi-chapter story because I may not finish it. So, here's the deal:
Anybody can take this!
This chapter can be posted for a continuation by anyone. Just mention my name please; Artificial Starlight. Set this as your first chapter, if you are interested, and build off it from there.
I'd like to see the many different branches this idea can take. If you decide to do something with this, please tell me. I want to see what you come up with!
If you don't want to do that, then give me some more ideas (twists and turns), if I use them, I'm sure to put your name down as a founder of a great story.
Whether I continue this or not is completely up to fate. I won't make excuses of how busy I am; I'm just lazy after a long day at school and my brain is kind of fried. But it helps tremendously when people speak up about what they like/ dislike about this story and where I should take it next!
So please tell me what poor Matt is going to do next!